


Realisation

by dorothysecret



Category: Zero Escape (Video Games)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Not Beta Read, Other, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorothysecret/pseuds/dorothysecret
Summary: It was a couple weeks after the nonary game Junpei noticed it. The weird emptiness. He had never noticed it before, but it didn’t feel like a new development.





	Realisation

**Author's Note:**

> ughh this is a mess but i wrote it at like 5am after not sleeping for two days lol

It was a couple weeks after the nonary game Junpei noticed it. The weird emptiness. He had never noticed it before, but it didn’t feel like a new development. After the nonary game Clover, Light and Alice had went of together. Seven used the excuse he wanted to see Nona so he could go home with Hazuki, and Alice had taken care of Ace. (He noticed he always used Ace’s codename in place of his real one, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. ) He was the only one left all alone.

He was fine with it, but it was the first twinge of bitterness he felt towards her. The second was when he realised that he was the only participant of the second nonary game who really remembered any of it. He was the only one who had seen the countless deaths. He was the only one who remembered a knife piercing him. He was the only one that was kept up at night with memories that were never really his.

It messed with him.

It messed with him a lot to know that he was the only one who remembered these things, that he had just stolen another Junpei’s body to survive. That he had sentenced countless versions of himself to death. That the body he was in was stolen, it was so so familiar but their was tiny details that were different. Things like his favourite brand of shampoo, or how in this timeline his regular drink was apparently a bitter coffee. Things that meant so little, but only served to worsen the guilt.

He felt so alone.

He knew the rest of the participants would have mental scars that would never fade but, all of them had someone else who went through it, they had someone who would understand the nightmares, or the regrets, or the little nervous habits. The had someone who would sit with them in the wee hours of the night. He didn’t.

It’s been a long time since he had someone to spend time with in general. His friendships where shallow, and he barely cared about them. He was charismatic, and he always had plenty of “friends” in each of his classes, but they barely interacted outside of class, and he only got one person asking about his sudden absence. He realised then, how little he meant to others.

He probably meant nothing to her, just a tool to save her life. He meant nothing to any of them. If he meant anything they would’ve messaged him, even once, but instead he's stuck staring at his empty texting app.

It hurt, it hurt more than he was willing to admit.

So he learnt to shove it down. He learn to kick it under his bed and to step on it. He learnt to drown it out and to let it wash off him. He learnt to hit the wall and himself and how to dismantle sharpeners. He learnt how throw himself into situations where he could easily die. He learnt how to lie to people to convince everything was alright.

He learnt and he learnt until one day he could no longer recognise his stolen body in the mirror. He could no longer count the amount of bottles in his apartment or the scars on his body. Until he couldn’t remember anyone's face because there was no point. They were going to die or leave him so there was no point anymore. His co-worker who was pushed off the roof was just the same as the co-worker who wasn’t fast enough and was burned alive.

He noticed how ironic it was. He was just the same as him at this point wasn’t he? He couldn’t distinguish a single face and he left someone to burn.

He didn’t notice how much he changed until he reunited with Seven, who even asked if he knew where Junpei was when he first saw him, and couldn’t disguise the surprise on his face when Junpei told him who he was. A part of him felt guilty, as Seven couldn’t mask the sadness on his face either. He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice when he told him he was destroying himself. Junpei already knew this, he couldn’t care at that point. He drunk with the older man once their mission was finished, he drunk so much he threw up on the pavement and woke up on an unfamiliar couch. He snuck out before anyone else had woken up. Hoping the stolen picture wouldn’t be noticed.

He ignored any texts he got from then on.

 

The days merged together. Until four months ago felt like yesterday and Monday felt a hundred years away. He didn’t remember much. He just remembered the shower hitting his heads and the growing number of bottles and scars and bruises. Until all his memories became nightmares.

 

It wasn’t until a week before D com he realised that his personality had barely changed. He didn’t change at all, there was never an “old Junpei” there was just a Junpei who hid it. He didn’t care anymore, he didn’t care about forcing himself to be charismatic or funny, or to keep the mood light. He was just Junpei who couldn’t handle everything that had happened without lashing out at others.

He hated it.

He hated how instead of properly talking to her, he could only be bitter and aggressive. He hated how much she reacted like Seven did.

But somehow, she forgave him. She gave him gentle reassurance and whispered affection. Lingering touches and even more memories. She let him press their lips together at the hotel they were staying at after being picked up from D com. She didn’t judge or hate him when he broke down, tears soaking her dress. As she played with his hair and rubbed his back until he fell asleep.

She wasn’t the only thing D com brought him.

It also brought him Carlos, someone who seemed to look at him with more love and adoration than he ever deserved. Who made him feel safe just being near him, and even safer when wrapped in his arms. Who didn’t mind when he used him as a pillow in the car or when he forced him to carry him.

He wondered what he did to end up with the living embodiments of perfection. With people who stayed up late, soothing and holding him when he woke up screaming, or when he stumbled to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Who convinced him to eat and sleep and take care of himself when living seemed to much. Who put up with him whenever he lashed out or broke down, or when he would disappear without warning because his thoughts became too loud.

He didn’t deserve them. The deserved so much better than him, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take for them to realise it. He had already prepared for the day when he slowly drifted out of the picture. He knew deep down he didn’t matter to them, that they were going to get sick of his random violent outbursts, or constant meltdowns, or the fact he could barely help them when they where having nightmares of his own. Carlos could always bring Akane back to reality whenever she got lost in the hundreds of timelines, and she always knew how to help Carlos through a panic attack or flashbacks. All he could do is stand there, sit there awkwardly and offer what little assistance he could. He could barely give in a relationship he was always receiving in. No matter how much they reassured him they were fine with it, he felt bitter about it.

But yet again, they helped him realise something he was good at. He could give advice from his own perspective, he had his own blunt way of saying things that could drive home a point and he wasn’t afraid to hold back. He was good at distracting and giving good coping mechanisms. He was good at rambling about his vast array of useless movie knowledge, forcing them to think about whatever movie that came to his mind instead of his head on a shelf.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever be okay again, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever really deserve them.

He was fine with being selfish.


End file.
